


Armor

by Lassarina



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/pseuds/Lassarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is the armor; it is part of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armor

It is armour, more than anything else.

The layers are simple enough. The undergarments are undecorated, neither fringed with lace nor embroidered in bright colours. Function, not form, is important. The trousers are wool, warm in a mountain winter and quick to shed water, holding heat even when soaked. The boots are leather polished to a glossy sheen, well-worn-in and suitable both for combat and for marching. The jacket, weighed down with medals and awards, is wool also.

Nothing covers her face, but nothing needs to. Years of training keep her face a flawless mask. To show emotion under Kefka's command is to invite mockery or reprisal according to a matrix only he understands. To show feeling to the Emperor invites doubt as to her abilities, and she is already the youngest of the generals and the only woman. To show feeling to Leo—well, best not to start, for it is easier to maintain the same control in all areas of her life than to pick and choose.

The sword is practical, simple steel, without decoration of any kind. She is skilled in its use, thanks to Leo's tireless training, and she has other weapons to her hand besides, though few of those show to a potential opponent. The armour is likewise simple steel. She wears ringmail beneath her breastplate, better-armoured than half the Imperial forces. Gestahl's precious experiment is not to be wasted; not for her the quick lithe combat of some of their elite troops, but rather Leo's style, solidly planted in unyielding earth, a wall to thwart the enemy.

The costume is armour more than the steel, and the mask more than the costume. She dons the garb of an Imperial general and reminds herself, _This is who you are._ Not a foolish girl, like so many her age; not a soldier, anonymous behind helm and shield; not a citizen. She is a symbol, and she knows the value of what she is on many levels.

She puts on the role, and locks her self within a prison of ice, reinforced each morning and each night lest some unguarded moment weaken it.

She becomes the armour.


End file.
